


Backaches & Heartbreaks

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re tired, unbelievably tired, but you can’t sleep.  The rumbling of the train keeps you awake, even as the man across from you snores impossibly loud.  Annoying, just like everything else about him.</p>
<p>And yet…</p>
<p>And yet nothing. ~IRL Parvill AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backaches & Heartbreaks

You can’t remember the last time you were on a train. You do remember that you hadn’t enjoyed it; long, tedious, and altogether far too uncomfortable to get work done. Despite that, here you are, standing at the station. The wind tugs at your hair, overcast dusk smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and asphalt. Your arms are folded severely across your chest. _Don’t talk to me_ , your body says, and you mean it.

There’s a rumbling you feel deep in your chest, and the sound of the train gets closer. Finally. You feel like you’ve been standing for hours, though as you glance down at your watch you see it’s been no more than 45 minutes. Your brand-new dress shoes bite your toes, hinting at what you’re sure will be some incredibly painful blisters later on.

Still, they look sharp, and that’s what counts.

Sharp. That’s what you are. Hard edges, black and red lines, bitter expression, you’re sure, though you can’t see it. You hope you exude confidence as much as you exude annoyance.

Confidence is the shield; anger the rapier.

And the shoes and slacks and dress shirt and tie are the suit of armor, glinting steadily in the dimming evening light. Sharp. Unapproachable. That’s all you’ve ever wanted to be.

All you’ve needed to be.

You walk up to the train doors with hurried steps, zigzagging your way through the crowd for first choice. You only have one bag with you, little more than a briefcase. Light, free. No burdens to carry. Not you.

You’ve settled down in your seat by the time he comes along.

Though he can’t be much younger than you, it seems he’s been trapped in the trashy college student phase of life - his jeans look like they’ve seen better days, his hair is a (most likely unwashed) mess on top of his head, and he’s carrying his belongings in a worn-out backpack slung over one shoulder.

He catches your eye, and despite the scowl you feel on your face, decides that’s an invitation.

“Hello,” he says as he takes the seat opposite you, enthusiasm infecting the word.

Your scowl deepens.

“My name’s Parv. What’s yours? Where are you headed?”

His voice buzzes like a fly caught in a light; persistent, piercing, and above all, aggravating.

You decide to pointedly ignore him. Perhaps he’ll catch the hint.

“I’m from England originally, which I don’t know if you can tell from my accent, which is so much better than your silly American one - I’m here to meet with some friends. Well, I say friends, but I actually mean band. I’m meeting with my band in California and we’re gonna play in some venues. See, the rest of them are taking planes, but I ended up getting--”

“Do you ever shut up?” you demand, your voice icy.

“Nope!” says the man cheerfully. “Everyone wants to hear what Parv has to say. Sometimes they don’t know it but they really do want to hear what Parv has to say. They realize eventually that Parv is--”

The anger is crawling inside of you, clinging and even more persistent than this stupid, stupid man. “And stop referring to yourself in third person!”

The man pouts. “But I’m the great Parv!”

“I don’t give a damn who you are. You’re distracting me from my work.”

And you pull open your briefcase and open your little netbook computer, pressing the power button with far too much vigor. Parv watches you, interest drawing his body toward you.

You raise your finger to point at him. “Don’t come anywhere near this computer. I mean it.”

“Ooo, you’re scary,” Parv says, and you honestly can’t tell if it’s sarcastic or not. “I was just looking at your name, though, silly Strifeykins!”

Fuck. You have your name printed on the outside of your laptop. God fucking damn it.

And …

“What did you just call me?”

“Strifeykins! I go by Parv, you go by Strifeykins…”

“I do not go by Strifeykins!”

“No? I think you should,” Parv says. He leans back in his seat. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“And- and what do you mean you go by Parv? You said that was your name?”

“Ah!” he sits up straight in his seat. “Actually, I’m Alex Parvis, but I just go by Parv. Or Parvykins. Do you want to call me Parvykins, Will?”

“I -- No!”

“Oh,” he slumps in his seat, sulking. “Fine, then.”

You sigh heavily, emphasizing the exhale to demonstrate your annoyance. “Listen, Parvis, I have work to do, so if you don’t mind…”

“Sure, sure,” Parvis says, to your shock. He then pulls out a pair of grossly oversized headphones out of his backpack, and blasts what sounds suspiciously like Japanese punk rock.

Your nose whistles slightly as you breathe in heavily.

May as well work on some of your recent figures.

~

You’re tired, unbelievably tired, but you can’t sleep. The rumbling of the train and your persistent thoughts keep you awake, even as the man across from you snores impossibly loud. Annoying, just like everything else about him.

And yet…

And yet nothing.

Your phone buzzes. A text message.

Now? You glance at your watch. At quarter till 3 am? Who would that be?

You grab your phone and covertly type in your lock code. Parvis appears to be asleep, but you never know.

The screen lights up and the message is there for you to read, although you instantly wish it wasn’t.

_Listen. I miss you. I need you, ok? I’m not the same without you. Please, I’ve always needed you._

With a vicious curse you delete the message and all but throw your phone onto your suit jacket, laying across the seat next to you.

How did he get your new number? Did someone tell him?

Your heart’s beating wildly, and you drop the first two fingers of your right hand onto your left wrist. You begin to count, focusing on the pulse of blood.

Will you ever escape him? you wonder. Or will it be like this forever?

You did your research, when you clued in. Covertly, at the library. If there’s one thing you did learn, it’s that these kind of people don’t go away easily. They’re content to follow you forever, so long as it’s doing you harm.

You just hope that your phone number is the only information he got. Depending on who he spoke to, it could be a whole lot worse.

~

“Look, Dave-- No, Dave, seriously, this is important!”

God damn Dave. Never could treat anything as important unless it directly involves him. Figures he wouldn’t give a shit about something like this.

“I need to know who it was, Dave,” you hiss, despite the amusement in the other man’s tone. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m willing to pay for this information.”

Dave drives a hard bargain. But you’re desperate, so you’ll do what you have to.

“It was your brother.”

You hiss a curse under your breath. Not as bad as it could have been, but still.

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll contact you once I’ve arrived.”

You’ve learned not to expect much from your siblings, but this is absolutely crossing the line. You never thought they’d sink so low.

Luckily, though, you haven’t told them where you’re going. And after this, they’ll never hear from you again. Not one of them.

~

You take your coffee the way you’ve always taken it: a splash of cream and no sugar. Just enough to dampen the acidity of black coffee. It’s a shock to your system like this; wakes you up and makes you remember you’re alive.

It’s easy to forget sometimes.

Parvis has woken, however, by the time they come around with beverages.

And he’s _still_ talking to you, even as he pours an obscene amount of sugar into his black coffee.

“...excited to be in California, you know, even if it’s northern California, because that’s one step closer to southern California, you know, and it’s the place to be when you’re in the music business.”

He’s trailing after you now, gangly legs bumping against the chairs lining the middle walkway. You stifle yet another sigh of frustration.

You’re thinking, hard, about your next step. You need a place of operations to get anything done - office space required. You could live on the streets so long as you have an office space and access to a shower.

Dropping down into your seat, you take a long sip of your coffee and close your eyes.

“You’re not still sleepy, are you, Strifey?”

Your eyes blink back open quickly. You open your mouth to reply, then shut it just as quickly. Your mouth screws up into a frown as you stare Parvis down.

He only leans back in his seat, long legs taking up nearly all the space between them, and smiles.

Pulling out your laptop, you pointedly power it up, taking another sip of your coffee. You’re above responding to his petty behavior.

It takes a while, but finally Parv seems distracted; he’s humming softly to himself and tapping his fingers rhythmically against his knees. You pointedly ignore him and dial a very familiar number.

~

“Look, we _may_ be able to rent you a space, Strife.”

“ _May_. That’s a big fat perhaps right there.”

“It’s a demanding market, stock going up, not to mention all the liquid assets we’ve been handling.”

“It’s all liquid, mate.”

“Except, of course, the bit that’s tied up.”

“All tied up in assets.”

“Do you always have to answer on speakerphone?” you demand, feeling a migraine coming on already.

“We’re a unit. A bunch of cogs in a wheel.”

“Nice greasy wheel.”

“I can’t deal on a maybe,” you insist.

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

“Well perhaps we could upgrade that to a probably.”

“A positively.”

“A definitely. So long’s you’re willing to pay the price, Strife.”

“A big fat whopping price.”

“It’s a steal, though, don’t forget.”

“Cheapest prices on the market.”

You sigh. “Listen, until I get set up again, this is all going to be I.O.U.’s.”

“You owe me, I.O.U.’s, it’s all the same, mate.”

“We trust you, Strife.”

“Meaning, of course, we want this all in writing.”

“A nice lawyerly contract.”

“Signed in blood.”

“Or some other bodily fluid.”

“Piss on the contract.”

“I’ll see you when I get there,” you say.

“See you then, Strife.”

“See you, ya filthy ass--”

“Don’t call the customers that, you twat!”

You hang up.

~

Parvis is grinning. He probably heard plenty of that; the hats aren’t known for their quiet demeanors.

No, they’re known for the way they finish each others sentences. And their frequent crude jokes.

“You’ve got some really cool friends, Will,” Parvis says, and you make a face at him before you can stop yourself.

“They’re not friends,” you say, but it sounds a lot less harsh, and a lot more lonely than you wanted.

Parvis sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He fixes you with a surprisingly hawkish look, and says simply: “They sound like friends.”

~

Your next, and hopefully final, call of the day: “Rythian.”

“Strife.” The voice, tinged with a Nordic accent, responds promptly. “Long time no see. What are you up to?”

“...I didn’t tell you, Rythian, but there’re some changes afoot.”

You can feel Parv’s eyes on you and you cringe. Damn it. You wish he would just leave you alone. “I’m moving. To California. It’s imperative that you tell no one.”

“Oh...kay?”

You hiss out a sigh, and move your hand up to muffle your words, hoping beyond hope that Parvis won’t hear. “He’s stalking me. I had to get out of town.”

“Ah.” Rythian’s voice is clearer now. “I’m sorry to hear that. So, California? Are you meeting up with Dave?”

“Yeah, and the hats.”

“Those scam artists?”

“They’re harmless, Ryth. Relatively harmless, anyway.”

“So long as you’re looking out for yourself.” Rythian pauses, then sighs. “What do you need from me?”

“What makes you think I --”

Rythian knows you too well. “There’s no way you’d call me en route unless you needed something. Otherwise you’d tell me after all was said and done.”

“I suppose that’s true. Listen, Rythian, I know we usually work on a commission basis, but --”

“If you need a loan it’s no problem.”

You feel so weak, and you hate it. “Yes, that would be - that would be very helpful.”

“No problem. Just forward me the info for whatever account you’re using.”

“Thank you.”

~

You’re pointedly ignoring Parvis narrating the locales you pass through when your phone buzzes again, loudly.

You reach for it with some trepidation, and find exactly what you feared once you unlock the phone.

_I thought you loved me. Why are you doing this to me?_

And you’re overcome with a sick feeling of guilt, head spinning. God, what have you done to him? How is he managing, day in, day out. You can picture him now, broken, forlorn, waiting --

How does he manage to do this to you? After all this time?

“...Strife? Willie Willie Strifeykins?”

“Shut up,” you snarl without thinking, and stand.

Parv is watching you with wide brown eyes, strange interest in his expression. He’s quieter on the inside than he is on the outside. More observant than you’d expect.

You sit back down. You take a deep breath. Begin dialing.

~

“What am I supposed to do, Dave?” you ask, and you hate the fear you hear in your voice.

His response, when it comes, is amused. “If you wanted help with that, Will, you should’ve paid me more up front. As it is, I don’t think you’ll be able to pay back what you owe me anytime soon.”

You fight against the anger burning within you. No point in starting a fight with Dave. No point.

“Goodbye,” you bite out, and press the call end button on your touchscreen. It’s not as satisfying as you wanted it to be.

“Why don’t you get a burner phone?”

Your eyes dart over to the other man, who’s watching you closely with dark eyes.

“Mind your own goddamn business,” you say instinctively; but the man only tilts his head to the side like a curious dog, apparently unoffended.

And then you hear what he’s said. “What?”

“You know, a prepaid phone. No one can track you, and you can pay with cash and everything.”

You blink.

Why hadn’t you thought of that, exactly?

“Thanks,” you say begrudgingly, and the other man grins ecstatically.

“My pleasure, Will!”

~

The next time your phone buzzes, you don’t even want to look.

But morbid curiosity is eating away at you, and you open up the new message.

Not from him. From your brother.

_We’re worried about you_ , the message auspiciously begins. _Why won’t you tell us where you’re going? Please just tell us, I’m not far from calling someone._

Someone.

Someone, meaning a detective. Or perhaps even the police.

For God’s sake, you can’t hide any more effectively than you already are. A detective could find you no problem. How on earth are you going to manage that?

There’s only one more person you know who’ll be willing to help you in exchange for favors. But he’s the last man you want to owe.

You fiddle with your phone, spinning it around in your hand. To call, or not to call.

While Dave is only interested in himself, he’ll hold to any deals you make. You’ve got to make sure they’re bulletproof contracts, but he won’t go against his word. The hats are pushovers. Bullies, but pushovers. They won’t be able to deal you any lasting harm. And Rythian is a friend.

Ridge, on the other hand --

Ridge will do anything, and everything, to end up on top. You’ve known many colleagues who ended up owing him a favor too many. You know what happens to those who can’t pay when he demands it.

You never wanted to be one.

If you call Ridge, you’ll be on a limited life span. Only one man has ever come out on top of Ridge, and he’s in jail now.

You stand abruptly, only distantly aware of Parvis’ eyes following you.

After all this. All the work you’ve put in, all the time and the sacrifice. Your dreams are about to be destroyed.

This is all his fault. Why the hell did he have to follow you like this? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Doesn’t he understand what he’s doing to you?

If he can’t be happy, you can’t be happy either.

You’re sitting on the floor of the lavatory, gasping breaths escaping you. God, why, damn it. You’ve worked so hard, worked from nothing, built up your business with help from no one and now it’s all ruined. Even without Ridge there’s no way you’ll pay back everyone in time. You’ve never done that well in all your time as an entrepreneur. There’s no way you’ll be able to pay them all back. All of these years, these sacrifices. Ruined.

The door opens with a creak.

You’re clinging to yourself, trying to stifle the uneven gasps, even as you look up to see who it is.

It’s Parvis. How could it be anyone else?

He steps in and shuts the door behind it, locking it. He kneels down so he’s at your level, and before you can react he’s hugging you.

A hug.

It’s warm, and comfortable, and you can’t remember the last time you’ve been held like this.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, trying to even your breath.

“Hugging you,” he says, and you give up trying to reason with him or yourself.

~

You’re watching the sunrise out the window, beautiful pastels glancing above the striking skyline. Parv is opposite you, stirring as he begins to rise from sleep. You ignore the strangely bittersweet feeling in your chest as you remember what awaits you once you step off of this train.

Difficulty. But you’ve never been averse to that.

Though you hate to say it, it’s the loneliness you fear the most.

~

Parv follows you even as the two of you make your way along the station toward the parking lot.

You hear a loud series of car horns, and what sounds like a painful attempt to harmonize Parvis’ name.

Parv whoops and waves at them, but doesn’t leave your side. You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

Before you can react, he presses a small scrap of paper into your hands.

“No point in asking for yours since I know you’ll be changing them. Keep in touch, Strifeykins!”

He bounds off before you can say anything, before you can even glance down at the paper. And you’re loathe to take your eyes off him as you watch him disappear into his friends’ car.

You finally look down.

Scrawled on the paper, in unsurprisingly awful chicken scratch, is a phone number.

You take a deep breath and shake your head, but you can’t help but feel excitement stirring in your gut.

Perhaps it won’t be so bad here after all.


End file.
